It was like a little shiver running through her.

For only a flash it seemed to him that he had caught a glimpse of something terrible, a thing she was hiding, a thing she was fighting as she stood there with her two little clenched hands.

For in her face, in her eyes, in the beating throb of her white throat he saw, in that moment, the almost hidden agony of a hurt thing.

And then it was gone, even as he entreated again, pleading for her faith.
"I did not kill John Barkley!" "I am not thinking of that, Jeems," she said.

"It is of something--" They had forgotten the storm.